Haruhi's Number 2
by Tyranae
Summary: 5 years ago, Kyoya let Haruhi go and never told her his feelings so she could be happy with Tamaki. But now, Haruhi is alone and pregnant with a child and Tamaki is nowhere to be found. What will Kyoya do?   ONE-SHOT


**Hello! MidnightDragon123 here with my first Ouran High School Host Club Fanfic! Please enjoy and review! Reviews encourage me to keep writing.**

**Pairing: KyoyaxHaruhi**

**Genre: Hurt/Comfort with a bit of Romance**

**Rating: T (For a bit of romance and fluff, the mentioning of pregnancy, and a few, not-so-serious curses)**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE OURAN HIGH SCHOOL HOST CLUB MANGA OR ANIME. I ONLY OWN THIS STORY (Haruhi's #2). **

**Read and Review! ^_^**

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><p>Kyoya Ootori sat at the steering wheel of his Mercedes Benz, the long fingers on one his right hand tightly gripping the steering wheel, as if he were attempting to strangle it, while his left hand was furiously combing through his hair, attempting to make himself presentable.<p>

"I'm such a fool…" he muttered to himself, "how could I ever think Tamaki was responsible enough for…"

He slammed his left hand into the steering wheel, causing a loud honk to be emitted from the car.

From outside of the car, he could hear similar honks and one especially loud and annoying man yelling a series of profanities about the traffic.

Kyoya took a shuddering breath, looking out of his car's window for a moment.

Nothing but seemingly endless miles of traffic.

He slumped in the car's leather seat, feeling frustrated and dizzy, his dizziness probably a result of his lack of food for the past 10 hours.

He checked his watch. 10:30 A.M.

On a normal Friday, he wouldn't be sitting in traffic looking as if he'd just finished a 3-day trek in the desert. On a normal Friday, he'd probably be at his penthouse suite in Tokyo, sipping a cup of double espresso coffee while working on his laptop. But this wasn't a normal Friday.

The blue minivan in front of his car moved forward about a foot and Kyoya immediately stepped on the gas pedal, the car jerking forward quickly before coming to an abrupt stop, causing the car's tires to screech in protest and probably leaving rubber marks on the road beneath him.

It wasn't normal of him to be so reckless. He usually left that to Tamaki and his silly melodramatic antics.

"Damn you, Tamaki," he said, cursing under his breath, as he reached down with his right hand to grasp his iPhone, listening to the message that Tamaki Suoh had left him at 11:00 P.M. last night.

"I-I'm sorry Kyoya, I just taken take it anymore," Tamaki's voice came out shakily from the voicemail, "It's just so impossible to handle. I mean, Haruhi's pregnant and…it's just too much. Tell Haruhi I'm sorry. Please tell the rest of the Host Club to take care of her for me."

_Click_

Kyoya gritted his teeth in rage at that last sound. Tamaki had just put down the phone, not a single shred of remorse for what he had just done.

How could he have entrusted Haruhi with him? He was supposed to be the intellectual type, so how on earth had he not calculated Tamaki's flightiness, his flirtatiousness, his drama, his treatment of the hardworking commoner's life as a game?

He'd checked his voicemail at 7 o'clock in the morning, and there it had been. Not a shred of remorse, not an apology to Haruhi, nothing.

After hearing that, he'd simply thrown on whatever clothes was at the front of his closet and ran out of the front door with nothing but his wallet and car keys, leaving countless protesting servants behind him, and he'd hopped into the car and taken off.

That, Kyoya realized now, had been a seriously irrational decision on his part. He now sat in his car with a growling stomach, low blood pressure, mismatched socks, disheveled, messy hair, and rumpled clothes.

He let out a bitter chuckle. Oh, if only Tamaki and the others could see how the "cool-headed intellectual type" looked now. But of course, he thought, his face darkening, if Tamaki was here, this situation wouldn't be happening.

Kyoya had already called Kaoru, Hikaru, Mori, and Mitsukuni about Tamaki's sudden flight from his pregnant wife, though he'd been informed by the Hitachiin household's staff that the twin brothers were currently in the United States working on establishing a new modeling company, and Mori had not responded to his voicemail yet. Mitsukuni had been the only one to respond to the voicemail he'd left, and had assured Kyoya that he would do his best to arrive to comfort Haruhi as soon as possible.

Kyoya absentmindedly scrolled through his voicemails and text messages again, this time, finding a text from Mori that had been sent a mere hour ago, reading, "I'll be there."

Some things never changed, he thought to himself, trying desperately to compose himself, something that usually came to him so easily.

He kept scrolling through his voicemails. One from Mitsukuni, a few from his company questioning his absence at the 10:00 meeting (all of which he decided to answer later when he was feeling calmer), one from that treacherous Tamaki…and none from Haruhi.

Kyoya's mouth formed a grim line. Others who didn't know Haruhi as well as he and the other Host Club members did would consider this to be a sure sign that a person wanted to be alone. From Haruhi, it was a sign that she needed help. She was still so stubborn and willingly independent, so reluctant to rely on others. He recalled the event a good 5 years ago when Haruhi saw a few girls getting harassed on the beach and had handled it herself instead of asking for help, even though she needed it. 5 years had passed, and it was still the same willful, self-reliant Haruhi. He knew this for certain. After all, how could he not know it? He himself had watched Haruhi carefully ever since that day she'd walked into the Host Club, her beauty hidden away by glasses and a baggy sweater. But he'd noticed her behind that disguise, while Tamaki, stupid, foolish Tamaki, had seen nothing but a ragged, hideous commoner. He had only noticed her when she'd finally taken off her disguise. Kyoya had found her interesting for things besides her beauty. He'd seen her dedication, he'd noticed her selflessness. All Tamaki had seen was her beauty. But Tamaki had always been Haruhi's 1. Kyoya had just been a bystander, watching her grow. And in the end, Kyoya had been the one to let her go after seeing that she already loved Tamaki, for what he supposed to be her own happiness and for his ex-friend, Tamaki's happiness, making the false prediction that they'd be happy together.

A miscalculation on his part.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair again in an attempt to make it lie flat.

Kyoya picked up his cell phone once more, glancing in annoyance at the traffic surrounding him, tension filling his body. He hit his speed-dial list, selecting Mori, before lifting the cell-phone to his ear, still watching the traffic as his foot tapped impatiently against the floor of his car.

"Mori," Kyoya addressed Mori through the phone, "I'm afraid that I'm stuck in traffic, so I won't be able to make it in time. Please…"

He paused for a minute, not sure what to say.

"Just…try to get there as soon as you can and comfort Haruhi."

"Of course," Mori said, his deep voice coming out of the phone.

"Thank you Mori."

He hung up after this, and with nothing to hold his attention, his frustration returned as he glanced outward at the sea of multi-colored trucks.

There was nothing to do now but wait.

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><p>Another 2 drudging hours later, Kyoya was finally there, hurrying up the stairs to Haruhi's apartment.<p>

_10A, 10C, 10D…._

Finally, he stopped in front of 10F, the door of the apartment unlocked and opened, so the inside of the apartment could be seen.

Kyoya stepped into the sunny, yellow-painted apartment, immediately noticing how neat it looked, clean and orderly with every vase, pen, and book, in a specific location. There was a large, orderly living room and, directly past the living room, there was a sliding glass door that led to a balcony. To left of the living room, he could make out a hallway, and to the right, a kitchen.

Every last detail of the room looked perfect, as if not a single event had happened in this apartment at all. The only things that hinted to even the slightest turmoil that had happened in this apartment were the lack of Tamaki and Haruhi's wedding photos on the dresser (3 large ones had been there during his last visit), the empty closet on his right that he presumed had once held Tamaki's clothes, and the crumpled, wet note lying on the gleaming glass-top coffee table, along with a bundle of pink cherry blossom flowers, their petals creating a mess on the rug beneath it.

He hesitantly approached the coffee table, adjusting his glasses as he read the note's scrawled, messy lettering that simply read, "Sorry Haruhi. I couldn't take any more. Love, Tamaki".

Kyoya's anger began to boil up again, especially as he glanced at the cherry blossom flowers. It was autumn. The cherry blossoms weren't even in season. Still the same flamboyant, care-free Tamaki. Always good at making sweet, empty promises that girls swooned at, always good at pretending to be a gentleman and sitting in elegant poses while sipping tea, always good at showering girls with red and white roses and imported chocolates. But when it came to the practical things, like washing dishes or caring for a pregnant wife, he ran.

He was tempted for a moment to throw the flowers off of the balcony for the minute, along with the note, but he calmed himself, silencing the irrational thoughts in his mind and trying to become the cool and collected person he normally was.

Kyoya took a few deep breaths, going out on the balcony, tilting his head towards the sunlight. In and out…in and out….

"Kyoya!" he heard Mitsukuni exclaim.

He turned, to see the not-so-little Mitsukuni, though his eyes were still wide and innocent.

"Haruhi's in the bedroom!" Mitsukuni informed him, "Mori is trying to comfort her, but she just keeps saying she's okay."

Kyoya got off of the balcony immediately, hurrying through the hall and into the bedroom, which he noted, was painted beige, probably Haruhi's choice.

His attention then turned on the familiar, brown-haired woman sitting in a chair, a noticeable rounding around her stomach. Mori was sitting in the chair next to her, towering a good 4 inches taller than the small, almost-frail looking woman.

"I'm fine Mori, I'm just fine. You and Hunni can stop worrying about me," she assured Mori, though Mori still sat there, glancing at her with his gentle eyes.

Kyoya cleared his throat.

"Haruhi?" he asked softly.

Haruhi's head tilted at the recognition of her name, revealing her pretty, pale face and her large brown eyes.

Almost as if this were a cue, Mori got out of the chair in a swift, smooth motion and walked out of the bedroom.

As he passed Kyoya, he said in his usual monotone, "I'll be in the living room with Mitsukuni."

Kyoya nodded, examining the girl-woman sitting in the chair before him. She still had her girlish charm, her dark brown, doe eyes.

But now, those eyes were sad, and she didn't sit straight up as she used to in the Host Club while greeting girls, but instead, she slumped over, one hand placed on her belly, the other uselessly hanging to her side.

Haruhi forced a smile, though her eyes were bordering on tears already.

"I'm fine. You guys can stop worrying. I wouldn't want to trouble you for nothing," she said, her voice shaky.

Kyoya crossed the room in a few strides, kneeling down in front of her and gripping her firmly, yet gently by her shoulders.

"You're not nothing. And you're not fine," he stated firmly, staring into her brown eyes. He didn't ask this as a question, he was sure of this. Just as he was sure that Haruhi had been sad. Just as he was sure right now that her innocent, brown eyes were crying for help and comfort.

Haruhi stared back at him for a moment, her lips parted to say something, but now, her eyes filled with the crystalline tears she'd held back and her slender shoulders shook in a silent sob.

She leaned suddenly on his shoulder, throwing her arms around him, seeking comfort.

Kyoya nearly moved back for a minute, unused to this contact. He was still unmarried, and even in the Host Club, he'd been the intellectual type and had left the hugs and kisses to Tamaki.

He fought his instinct, instead, letting her cry and hold on to him, while he attempted to murmur comforting words to her and had an awkward arm around her so she didn't fall over.

He didn't know how long they'd stayed there, Haruhi with her arms around him and her head on his shoulder while he murmured words of comfort and breathed in the sweet scent of Haruhi's hair mixed with the bitter and salty smell of tears. But soon, her shoulders stopped shaking, instead, quivering slightly every minute or so, and she tore herself away from the embrace.

"Are you feeling better?"

As Kyoya asked this, Haruhi stared at him with her doe eyes which were already red from crying.

She rubbed her right eye for a minute, and after staring at him for another minute, making him feel very awkward, she smiled and began to laugh.

Kyoya stood up in shock, stunned as he heard her musical, wild laughter ring out in the room.

"What is it?" he asked, uneasily.

Was Haruhi starting to lose her mind from all of the stress?

"L-look in the mirror Kyoya," she said, gasping, her laughter dying down to small chuckles.

Kyoya glanced into the mirror on the top of Haruhi's dresser, noticing for the first time that he had a red autumn leaf stuck in his messy bed-head and that, somehow, he'd not only mismatched his socks, but his shoes as well.

"Ah, well…" he muttered, trying to find a way to excuse himself as he reached up to brush the leaf out of his hair.

"Thanks Kyoya," she said, interrupting his excuse, a small smile now tugging on her lips and her brown eyes restored to their usual shine, "I haven't had a laugh for a while."

Haruhi stood up now, throwing her slender arms around him again for another hug. And this time, Kyoya embraced her as well.

Kyoya didn't mind being Haruhi's #2.

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